Day's POV
Location: History Class, Last Period
She's talking. Again.
Whispering, actually. Rapid-fire nonsense about how the teacher's voice is hypnotic and how she didn't sleep much because she was baking cookies for me at 3 a.m.
I don't ask why she was baking at 3 a.m.
I don't ask why for anything when it comes to her.
I just pass her the bottle of water she tucked into my bag earlier.
"Hydration is hot," she'd told me this morning. "Drink it and think of me."
She's absurd.
She's absurd, and chaotic, and clingy. And mine.
"Day," she whispers again, yawning this time. Her braid falls over her shoulder, swaying like a sleepy vine.
"Hmm."
"Don't let me fall asleep or I'll drool on your uniform and then your reputation as Mr. Cold Dark Dangerous will be ruined."
"I'll survive."
She giggles. "No, you won't. You're all mean and mysterious, remember? Can't have people knowing you have a soft spot."
I don't answer. She doesn't expect me to.
She shifts closer, tucking her head against my shoulder.
I go still.
She hums once, breath catching in a sigh, and within seconds… she's out.
Asleep.
In the middle of a noisy classroom. On my shoulder. Like it's the most natural place in the world.
Her fingers twitch against my sleeve, probably dreaming of something ridiculous like cat cafes or bubble tea. A lock of her hair falls across her cheek. I brush it away before I can stop myself.
Someone at the next desk glances over.
I glare, and they look away fast.
She shifts again, nuzzling into me.
I swear I stop breathing.
Her warmth bleeds into my side. Her scent—sweet, citrusy, familiar—soaks into my uniform.
And I just sit there, letting her ruin me quietly.
Because if this is what it feels like to fall…
I don't think I want to get up.